


The Kiss

by Lemon Drop (quercus)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-09-17
Updated: 2000-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:43:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quercus/pseuds/Lemon%20Drop





	The Kiss

He closed his eyes, overwhelmed for a moment by the warmth rolling upward toward him, and by the scent -- perfume, really. He'd know that scent anywhere, under any circumstances. The heat signature, too, was unique, imprinted on him as if on a baby duckling. And thus he followed, partnered, paired.

When he opened his eyes, a little dizzy, Blair was still standing next to him, forearms resting on the rusty metal railings as he stared out past the breakwater toward the Sound. Wind lifted the hair from his forehead and tossed it back; it gleamed in the silvery light of the evening overcast scudding above them.

He watched his friend stare seaward, looking into the long distances the ocean offered, a kind of comfort, he knew, for men such as they, who worked in crowded and dangerous cities. The solace of open spaces, the peace of long distance.

And the comfort of friends. He shifted a step nearer, cautiously, not wanting to disturb his friend's meditation. Although the evening air was cool, he felt the warmth of Blair's body seep under his clothing and seduce his skin. Goosebumps rose at the contrasting temperatures. He bent very slightly forward and risked a quick sniff, inhaling the essence of the man. He knew that, unlike any other sense, smell directly touched the brain; the molecules of his friend would actually come into contact with his brain. They were joined.

He followed Blair's gaze out into the Sound, dialing down his sight considerably, so he could see what Blair saw. A blurry blue horizon, smudged with darker blue islands. Then he slowly dialed up again, not too quickly, watching the focus sharpen. A grey whale. A pod of orcas. Blue spruce trees. White limestone outcroppings. A mallard pair.

He took another deep breath of Blair and turned his gaze inward. To where Blair lived in his heart. An unlikely friend, by all outward appearances. Certainly not a friendship he would've predicted, but one that had been more than good for him. Blair had expanded him. Not simply his senses, his use of them and control over them, but he himself had expanded. Grown more accepting and tolerant. More thoughtful. Less like his father and more like Blair.

Who, though younger and slighter, was in many ways quite paternal to him. A firm yet gentle hand always at his back, helping him learn to walk through this new life, a life Blair had given to him. My senses are a gift, he recalled telling his father years earlier, knowing that Blair had made them a gift, transmuting them from the shameful torture of seeing and knowing too much.

The years they'd spent together, learning to dance their way through kitchen clean up, investigations, camping, poker nights -- moving in a steady and largely peaceful union that he never found oppressive, only comforting and secure. He was secure with Blair. Safe.

He tried to imagine going on alone, without Blair's guidance, compassion, encouragement. He closed his eyes and pictured himself at the next awards banquet, yet another crime scene, fishing, going to a movie. But in each image, Blair would appear, smiling mischievously up at him, staring down at a victim, shouting triumphantly as he reeled in a trout, lecturing on the difference between French and American films. He literally could not imagine himself alone, without his friend beside him.

He looked down again at Blair's strong arms, at his hands lightly clasped together. Hands he knew well. They'd comforted him at the death of friends. Held him when he was ill. Cooked him a thousand meals, tossed him a thousand basketballs, high-fived him in triumph and hugged him in gratitude. Hands, he realized with a sharp shock, that he loved. And they belonged to a man he loved.

He blinked rapidly, surprised at the realization. Surprised at his own surprise. Of course he loved Blair; how could he not? How could he live and work and play with someone for so many years and not love him? Love his strength and enthusiasm and intelligence. Blair was a wise and compassionate man, a man he respected and admired. A man he loved.

He put his own hands on the railing next to where Blair's arms rested. Gripped and re-gripped the cold and flaking rusty iron bar. Tapped his fingers. And then, as deliberately and carefully as cupping an orphaned infant dove, he lay his hands on Blair's. Left them there, letting their warmth comfort him. He closed his eyes to focus better on the pulse beating in those hands, the flow of blood through the blue veins, the slight shiver and the rise of the hairs on Blair's hands.

Through the buzzing in his ears, he thought he heard Blair speak his name, not as a question, but a confirmation, a validation of his discovery. He nodded once, and felt the pull of a smile on his face. Opening his eyes, he slowly turned toward Blair, sliding his attention from their joined hands up Blair's forearms to the rolled-up shirtsleeves, to his shoulders, to the chest hair springing from the vee of his shirt, to Blair's face and finally to his eyes. He too was smiling, eyes half-lidded, a familiar look, a look of relaxed expectation, because Blair already knew what was happening, and what would happen next, and after that, and after that as well. Blair knew.

Blair also pivoted his body slightly, so the two men almost faced each other. Alone on the pier in the late dusk of late summer, they stood together, as close as two human beings could be and not be physically joined. He loosely grasped Blair's wrists and pulled his hands away from the railing. He brought Blair's left hand to his face and smelled it, never taking his eyes from Blair's. He smelled familiar, known. A little of himself and a little of Blair. He nuzzled Blair's palm, then placed it against his face. Again he heard his name murmured, and he smiled into that hand.

Then Blair very gently pushed his hand across his cheekbone and around the back of his neck, spreading his fingers and then closing them, massaging the muscles there twice before tugging lightly, urging him to bend.

And I do bend, he thought, smiling into Blair's face. That little tug was all he needed; with that one gesture, he now had all the permission he would ever need in their life together. He released Blair's hand to put his own on Blair's strong shoulder and slightly bent his body toward Blair. As slowly as the twilight fell, as slowly as the stars appeared, he moved toward Blair. He could hear Blair's eyelashes tangle when he blinked, his shirt rustle when he breathed. Blair was as relaxed as the sighing ocean as it rose to the pull of the rising moon, as accepting as the sky as it opened to the moon's path.

He felt Blair's breath upon his lips and breathed him in, letting the molecules that had been in Blair's lungs and throat slide into his mouth and body. His lips parted and he leaned the last micron to touch his mouth against Blair's. He heard Blair sigh and felt his muscles loosen, his body open to him. And without any demarcation, any clear delineation between not-kissing and kissing, they were kissing, breath and saliva moving between them, the flavor of Blair so expected, so desired, as to be home.

He stepped closer, until their bodies were pressed tightly together and he could feel every wrinkle in Blair's shirt, every rivet in his denim jeans. He moved his body slightly and felt and heard Blair's reaction, a slight tension and redirection of blood flow. He smiled through their kiss. He dropped his hand from Blair's shoulder down to the small of his back and then, with the slightest hesitation, to the firm curve of his ass. Blair lifted himself onto his toes and encouraged his hand to drop lower, to where his bottom swelled from his thighs. He tightened his grip and pulled Blair to him and they both gasped at the sensation.

He pulled harder, spreading his legs, and rubbed himself against Blair's thighs. Suddenly there was the sound of a car engine; they both exhaled sharply and straightened. Blair looked debauched, his eyes wide and glittering, his mouth moist and slightly open. He knew he looked the same.

Blair took his hand and led him back toward the pickup. He followed, anxiously, biting his lip. At the truck, Blair leaned against the fender and put both hands on his shoulders. Stared into his eyes. Leaned up and kissed him again, a proprietary kiss, a promissory kiss, a profoundly arousing kiss. He felt his head follow Blair's when he finally pulled away, capturing him for one more brief delicious touch before Blair tapped his chest.

For another moment they stood there, two silent figures in the wet-smelling dark of the harbor, and then they parted, each to climb into the truck. Then he drove them home, to their home; he drove them to their future.


End file.
